


Safe Place

by mikkimouse



Series: Tumblr Fics [22]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4877323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkimouse/pseuds/mikkimouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten minutes after he finishes the tea, Stiles is sound asleep on the couch, curled up tight with his face half-buried in a pillow.</p>
<p>Derek calls the sheriff to let him know.</p>
<p>“I don’t think I should wake him up,” he says, keeping his voice low.</p>
<p>“No,” the sheriff says. “No, don’t wake him up. He’s hasn’t…he’s safe there, with you?”</p>
<p>It sounds like he already knows the answer, just wants to hear it out loud. “Yes sir,” Derek says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BFive0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BFive0/gifts).



> Written for Bubbles' birthday earlier this month. You asked for a kiss sequel for [this fic](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/post/119529984115/sinyhale-im-sorry-welp-sinyhale-asked-for) months ago. I hope you enjoy, and have a lovely lovely day. <3
> 
> Originally posted to Tumblr [here](http://happybirthdaybanana.tumblr.com/post/129141535239/have-the-happiest-of-birthdays-bubbles-you).
> 
> Thank you to [deleted-scenes](http://deleted-scenes.tumblr.com) for the beta. 
> 
> If I've missed any tags, please let me know.

That first night, nothing happens.

Derek lets Stiles into the loft, sets him on the couch, makes him tea. Stiles drinks the whole mug, fingers flexing and shaking in between sips, opening his mouth to say something before closing it again. It's all right with Derek. He's more than happy to let silence sit between them.

Ten minutes after he finishes the tea, Stiles is sound asleep on the couch, curled up tight with his face half-buried in a pillow.

Derek calls the sheriff to let him know. 

"I don't think I should wake him up," he says, keeping his voice low.

"No," the sheriff says. "No, don't wake him up. He's hasn't...he's safe there, with you?"

It sounds like he already knows the answer, just wants to hear it out loud. "Yes sir," Derek says.

"Good." There's a pause. "Thank you for calling, Derek." 

Derek hangs up and pulls a blanket over Stiles and sits in the armchair, intending to read a bit before going to bed.

When he opens his eyes again, sunlight is spilling through the windows and Stiles is gone. A cup of coffee sits on the table, acting as a paperweight to a tiny slip of paper.

It says "thanks" in Stiles's handwriting.

***

It becomes a thing, Stiles hanging out at the loft. Derek knows he said the doors were always open, but he honestly thought Stiles would only show up occasionally. Maybe after nightmares, or something. 

But no. 

Stiles starts coming over after school, does his homework on Derek's couch and coffee table. Other times he has college applications spread out, drumming nervously on the table with his pen and fingers, biting his lips as his eyes skate over the pages. He's never as quiet as he was that first night, ranting about teachers and assignments and application requirements, grumbling about the essays he's supposed to write and the application fees. 

None of it's as vulnerable as it was the night in the locker room, but that's okay. Derek welcomes the rambling, the way it fills the empty spaces of the loft and makes the room seem brighter. He doesn't usually have to respond beyond grunts and the occasional "mm-hmm" of agreement. It's...companionable, if he had to pick a word: Stiles talking, Derek nodding along or snorting in derision. He likes it. 

Sometimes Derek cooks dinner, something he hasn't really done since he and Laura were sharing that shitty little apartment in New York. He makes pad thai, yellow curry, lasagna, chicken stir-fry, cabbage rolls—recipes he hasn't made in years. It feels like getting back on a bicycle; he's rusty, but the knowledge never left him and his first attempts aren't half-bad. 

Stiles moans over the food, eagerly shoving aside his homework to give Derek space on the couch and the coffee table. They eat together and watch TV, and it's comfortable. Derek hadn't realized how much he missed this, the simplicity of sharing a meal with someone else. 

He hadn't realized how much he wanted it to be with Stiles.

Stiles doesn't sleep over after that first night. Sometimes he naps, one leg hanging off the couch and his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a pale slip of skin, but he always wakes up in time to head back to his house. Derek's not quite sure what to make of that. But Stiles has better color to his face and the circles under his eyes aren't quite as dark, so Derek will count that as a win for now. 

And even when Stiles isn't there, the loft doesn't feel as large and lonely as it once did.

***

It's two in the morning when Derek wakes up to a knock on the loft door. Rain beats a steady pattern against the windows, and Derek mistakes the knock for thunder at first. It's only when it happens again that he realizes what it is. 

He's on alert when he answers the door. Stiles is on the other side, shoulders hunched, clothes dripping a puddle onto the floor outside. He's shaking and he smells cold and scared. 

Derek curses and ushers him inside, shutting the door behind him. "You're soaked."

"It's raining." Stiles sounds like he's trying to snark, but his teeth are chattering and the words don't have much bite. 

Derek grabs his fingers; they're ice cold. "Bathroom," he orders. "Get out of those clothes. Take a hot shower. Towels are above the toilet. I'll get you something to wear." 

To his surprise, Stiles toes out of his shoes and shuffles obediently to the bathroom without a single word of protest. 

Derek has a dozen questions, but they can wait. He pulls a worn shirt and a pair of sweatpants out of his dresser and, after a thought, a pair of thick socks as well. The shower's already running in the bathroom, so Derek sets the clothes beside the door and goes to put the kettle on. He closes his eyes and listens: to the patter of the rain outside, to the shower, to the creak of the kettle heating. If he focuses, he thinks he can hear Stiles's heartbeat under the rest of it. But that may just be wishful thinking. 

The tea's just finished steeping when Stiles pads into the kitchen, wearing Derek's clothes, hair still wet from the shower. He sits at the kitchen table and wraps his hands around the mug of tea, but doesn't make a move to drink. 

"Dad's at work," he says quietly, eyes trained on his tea. "Roscoe broke down at the end of your street, so I walked the last two blocks."

Derek sits at the table beside him with his own mug. "What happened?" 

Stiles shrugs a shoulder. "Just. You know. Horrible nightmare, woke up screaming. The usual. And I..." He trails off, taps his fingers against the mug. 

"Didn't want to be alone." Derek knows the feeling well. 

Stiles smirks, but Derek can see it for the mask it is. "Yeah. And you...understand." 

_The way no one else does_ , Derek hears unsaid at the end of the sentence. 

He wants to reach out, wants to touch Stiles to remind him he's not alone, but Stiles is still hunched, like that isn't what he wants right now, like he wants to keep his walls up. Derek holds his mug a little tighter instead. "I used to go to Laura."

Stiles looks up at him, golden eyes haunted. "Oh yeah?" 

Derek nods. "I'd crawl into bed with her after nightmares, after bad days, whenever I couldn't sleep. I tried not to at first, but..." He feels the sad smile twitch at his lips. "I didn't want to be alone."

"What do you do now?" Stiles asks softly. 

Derek takes a sip of his tea. "Sleep like shit." 

Stiles barks out a laugh and shakes his head. "Yeah. Sleeping like shit seems to be the order of the day."

They fall silent, the sound of the steady rain filling the loft.

"Why haven't you stayed?" Derek asks. 

He expects Stiles to deflect, to deny, to ask what Derek's even talking about, but apparently two-thirty in the morning is too early or too late for his usual methods. 

"It makes it too real," Stiles says into his tea mug. "I feel safe here. I feel safe with you. Safer than at my own house, and that's..." He shakes his head again. "If I stay here all the time...It makes it too real, how broken I am."

The quiet vulnerability twists Derek's heart, reminds him painfully of the way Stiles clung to him and cried, reminds him even more painfully of himself. He drops his gaze to his own mug. "You're my safe place, too," he admits. 

He hears Stiles's astonishment in the way his heartbeat spikes, but Derek can't bring himself to make eye contact, not just yet. "I don't know when it happened, but at some point...anger quit being my anchor." He takes a deep breath and raises his eyes, meets Stiles's dead on, because this can't be said to a mug of tea. "I feel safe with you. I feel human with you. I...I trust you. You're my anchor."  

Stiles stares at him, mouth parted, golden eyes wide as saucers. "I...but...you...I'm..." 

Derek reaches out then, rests his hand over Stiles's. "We're both a little screwed up." 

That seems to snap Stiles out of his daze. "A little?" 

Derek shrugs. "It doesn't mean I can't trust you, or that you can't be my anchor. It's..." He takes a deep breath, trying to find the words. "You stay. You come back. No one's done that for me since Laura." 

Stiles continues to gape at him, like he's trying to find words but can't. He turns his hand over so his palm is pressed to Derek's, so they're holding hands. 

Derek knows Stiles can't hear his heartbeat, can't hear how it speeds up at the touch, but somehow it feels like he knows what the gesture does anyway. 

Stiles lets out a long, shaky breath, and squeezes Derek's hand. "I'd kind of like to kiss you. If you'd be okay with that." 

He might as well have struck Derek in the chest with that admission. It's hard to breathe, hard to think. Derek came to terms with his own feelings a long time ago; he never expected, not for a moment, that Stiles might reciprocate. 

He rubs his thumb over Stiles's hand. "I think I'd like that." 

Stiles's eyes widen in surprise for all of a second before his face melts into a smile that pierces right to the core of Derek's heart. Maybe if it were daytime, he would have stronger walls, but here in the middle of the night, with so many secrets already shared, it feels like those walls are already gone. 

Maybe he never had walls where Stiles was concerned. Or Stiles wriggled beneath them so quickly and thoroughly that Derek didn't notice until it was too late. 

He stands, pulling Stiles with him, drawing him close. He can smell the tea on his breath, hear the beat of his heart over the sound of the rain, and Derek just wants to stay in this moment as long as he can. 

"I've been falling in love with you since you went up against the Darach to help find my dad," Stiles whispers into the space between them. 

Derek closes his eyes, takes hold of Stiles's arms to steady himself. "I've been falling in love with you since you gave up a lacrosse game to help me."

He leans forward, just a hair, and Stiles meets him there to seal their lips together. 

It's softer than Derek expects, just a gentle press of a kiss, but it also feels like a beginning, a promise, an acknowledgment of everything that's been building between them for God knows how long. Stiles tastes like the rain outside and hot tea and something even warmer, something that curls in Derek's stomach and settles into place.

He sinks into it, the taste and the scent, and drops his hands to Stiles's waist to hold on, because he's afraid he'll wake up and this will all be a dream, and Stiles will vanish the moment he opens his eyes. 

Then Derek feels long fingers in his hair, gripping him, just as grounding as the feeling of his hands on Stiles's hips. And just like that, this moment, this kiss, feels like the only real thing in the world. 

"Can I stay tonight?" Stiles says, the words a barest brush between their lips. 

"Yes." Derek presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You can stay always."

He feels, rather than sees, Stiles's smile. "I'm holding you to that." 

That's okay. It's one promise Derek will have no trouble keeping.


End file.
